


Dead or Alive?

by Idris02



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idris02/pseuds/Idris02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione remembered what the house smelt like, how she was slightly chilly and still had the taste of jam toast in her mouth. She remembered how her feet felt in her slippers, heavy and mournful as she scurried towards the door, torn between collapsing on the floor beside the broken glass in silence and running to the front door, flinging it open and screaming at the top of her lungs. She remembered the crumpled look on the man’s face as he stood on the door step. She remembered the way he wrung his hands as he spoke, how the hopeful look he held in his eyes, the small dash of hope, disappeared with a single head shake from Hermione.</p><p>“Miss Granger...” The man had started. At this point Hermione had wanted to bring her hands up to cover her mouth but she couldn’t make her arms move, she was frozen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

The house had been silent for weeks. The lights were barely used, not even when the Hermione moved from room to room late at night, she didn’t want to see the rooms, the walls, the carpet, their things. She couldn’t bear to see the apartment without Ron in it, she couldn’t walk from room to room and remember things they did or said, she just couldn’t.

She moved silently around the house, the only sounds coming from the kettle when it boiled, or the plumbing, or the fire crackling. Nothing else made a sound.

Others offered to come around, they sent letters, they knocked on the door, they tried to floo in but Hermione wouldn’t let them, she didn’t want to see them, she just couldn’t see them.

At first the waiting wasn’t so bad, she was used to the waiting, she knew that Ron could be over a week on some missions, so she continued on as normal. She wasn’t as happy as she was when Ron was home with her, but she flicked on the lights, danced to the radio and chatted to Ginny on the phone.

The third week she grew tiresome of being alone, she hated the cold quiet house. Usually by this stage Ron would have sent half a dozen letters, or even just a single sign to tell her that he was fine, that he missed her and their home. But she heard nothing from him, nothing at all and she grew to hate everything. She hated how there wasn’t a cup of tea given to her while she was pouring of parchment, she hated how she ate dinner alone. She hated how no one flicked soap suds at her while she dried the dishes, Ron always washed them, always, and now she had to do both, alone.

Then came the knock at the door.

She would have ignored it, like she did all the others, but this sounded different. It was a quick, solemn, commanding knock, not used by the likes of anyone she knew, it wouldn’t be a friend or a family member. The knock wasn’t the knock of a door to door salesman, or a child selling raffle tickets and chocolate, or some nutter asking Hermione to join some cult. No, this knock was the knock that she dreaded. The knock that she would have nightmares away whenever Ron was on a mission. The longer he was away, the more frequently she would dream of this knock, it would plague her sleep, but never in the daytime, never had she heard this knock, until four days ago.

Hermione was in the kitchen when she heard it, she heard it reverberate throughout the living room first, before spreading throughout the house, the terror in Hermione increasing with every millisecond. If Ron was upstairs asleep in bed, beside her in the kitchen or out at the shops she wouldn’t worry, but Ron had been gone for almost four weeks, and she hadn’t heard a peep from him since he lift. The glass slipped from her hand, smashing on the kitchen floor, as shards of glass scattered about her feet, and water sloshed over the tiles. Hermione was getting ready for work when the knock came, it was 8:17 am on a Tuesday morning, and even lying still on her bed on Saturday morning, she could remember everything.

Hermione remembered what the house smelt like, how she was slightly chilly and still had the taste of jam toast in her mouth. She remembered how her feet felt in her slippers, heavy and mournful as she scurried towards the door, torn between collapsing on the floor beside the broken glass in silence and running to the front door, flinging it open and screaming at the top of her lungs. She remembered the crumpled look on the man’s face as he stood on the door step. She remembered the way he wrung his hands as he spoke, how the hopeful look he held in his eyes, the small dash of hope, disappeared with a single head shake from Hermione.

“Miss Granger...” The man had started. At this point Hermione had wanted to bring her hands up to cover her mouth but she couldn’t make her arms move, she was frozen. The look on her face told him to skip the pleasantries, she had to know everything, and soon, she wouldn’t be able to wait.

“Have you heard from Ro, uh, Mr Weasley in the last..” The man had started, again he stopped as Hermione gave a small shake of her head. The small shake was all the movement she could muster, and that small movement sapped the hope out of the man standing in front of her.

The rest of what the man had said to her didn’t seem to be absorbed, she couldn’t take any of it in, the only words that she remembered four days later as she lay on the couch, her half open eyes staring at the lit fire, praying that it would turn green, were, ‘taken’, ‘badly injured’, ‘tortured’ and ‘possibly dead’. It didn’t help that all she could think about was those four things, all day and all night, the mere thought of it tortured her.

They had no idea where Ron or the other man he was with were, they hadn’t heard from them in over 9 days, that was four days ago, now it was over 13 days. He could be dead, they could be dead, or they could be dying and there was nothing that Hermione could do. All those spells in her head, and there was nothing that she could do, absolutely nothing.

In front of Hermione, the fire flickered green.

Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath. Breathing out she opened her eyes.

The flames were green now, someone was coming.

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice rang out from the fire. With a flick of her wand, Hermione put out the fire, she didn’t want to speak to him right now, not today, not now.

Closing her eyes again, Hermione rolled over, her back now turned to the fire place as she cleared her mind and focussed on the sounds of the street outside. She listened to the sounds of the birds chirping, to the distance chattering of people who passed by the gate, to the cars on the street outside and the footsteps.

The footsteps were getting louder. Hermione’s eyelids flew open as she raised herself up, and peered over the edge of the couch, the footsteps were definitely coming towards the house. They sounded heavy and strained. Hermione groaned, it would be Ginny bringing the box that she had promised to bring round a few weeks ago.

As Hermione lowered herself, the door flung open in front of her, revealing a sight that made Hermione gasp. The door slammed shut again and Hermione’s body wasn’t frozen, not like it had been when the man came to the door. Her head was whirring as she lit the fire with a flick of her wand, and although torn between running to the fire and to the two figures slumped against the front door, she didn’t hesitate before sticking her head in the fire.

“Ron.” Hermione breathed, giving the first genuine smile in the last week and a half. He may have been covered in mud, layered in blood, with dirty torn clothes, rips in his skin and matted hair, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was him, although she wasn’t sure whether it was Seth or Chris with him, it could easily be either one. She hadn’t heard the man when he told her about the other missing Auror.

As Hermione spoke to the Ministry of Magic, Ron continued muttering as he waved his wand over Seth’s leg. He was thinking the spells in his head but he was muttering to Seth, muttering like he had been for the past two days, it was oddly the only thing that kept him sane in that dank dreary place, that and the thought of going home, to Hermione. He was in agony, his body was bruised, cut and bleeding all over. Seth was dead, completely, utterly and undisputedly dead. But he couldn’t leave Seth alone, he couldn’t leave him to rot down there, his family would want a body to bury, he couldn’t leave Seth there, that was never an option.

“St Mungos are expecting us, they will take care of you and..” Hermione started, as she emerged from the flames and stood up, turning to face Ron as she did so.

“Seth’s dead Hermione.” Ron said, cutting Hermione off, his voice not sounding like his voice. It didn’t sound like him, his voice sounded hoarse, it sounded broken, she didn’t want to imagine what had made his voice like that, but over the past four days, as her imagination tortured her, she had probably already imagined a hell similar to the one Ron had experienced.

“There’s a dead body in my living room, brilliant.” Hermione muttered to herself, causing Ron to smile. She could only make out a flash of white teeth caked in blood between his chapped, bleeding lips, but she saw his bright blue eyes light up for only a moment, and that was what almost brought her to her knees. Seeing his smile, his eyes, she couldn’t focus on that, not now, she had to push the feeling to cry, to fall into his arms, to slap him for putting her through all this, she had to push all that aside.

“I’m so sorry.” Ron replied, as he stood up slowly, wrapping his arms around Seth as he did so and pulling him up with him. Hermione moved to help him but Ron shook his head, if Hermione came too close she would be able to make out his injuries, and he could see but the look on her face and in her eyes, that her imagination was overactive as usual, and he didn’t want to make her worry any more than she was already.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something more but Ron gave a quick flick of his wand and gently pushed her into the fire, and the flames flashed green around her, before she stepped out into one of the wards in St Mungo’s, where four healers were waiting with two stretches.

“He’s dead.” Ron’s voice came from behind Hermione, as two of the healers rushed towards the fire that Hermione had just vacated. With a few flicks of wands, Seth was on the stretcher and hurried out of the room, as the two healers that had rushed forwards now had both hands on Ron as his body collapsed beneath him.

“Ron!” Hermione shrieked as he dropped like a stone, the only thing supporting him were the two healers by his sides. Pulling him towards the stretcher, she could make out a deep gash down his leg, and blood rushed onto the floor beneath him, while blood trickled down his neck.

“Baby!” Hermione screamed as she noticed the deep laceration on the back of his head, his red hair caked in dried blood, while fresh blood continued to leak from the wound. Rushing towards him as the healers placed him down on the stretcher she couldn’t fail to notice the looks on the pale faces as they rushed him out of the room, shutting the door behind them, leaving Hermione alone in the room.

Finally allowing herself to completely succumb to her emotions, she too dropped to the ground, as tears streamed down her face and her harsh choked sobs filled the empty space around her. Behind her Ginny and Harry stepped out of the fire. With a flick of her wand Ginny tried to open the door, but the healers had put a temporary unbreakable lock, his family wouldn’t want to see the next few minutes, and they couldn’t be interrupted. It was best for everyone if Hermione was on the side of the door that she sat in a crumpled heap on the floor in. Barely noticing the arm that wrapped around her, Hermione collapsed into Harry’s chest, her choked sobbing didn’t allow her to say a single word, and Harry and Ginny looked at one another, trying to ascertain whether Ron was still breathing, whether his heart was still beating and his blood was still flowing through him.

At the moment, even Hermione couldn’t know.

That was all up to the healers.

Was he... dead or alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of a four part series existing in the Harry Potter Universe.  
> This work is completely unbeta'd so mistakes are mine and mine alone.  
> Let me know what you think.


	2. Once, Twice, Three Times

_No._

Hermione took a deep breath in, the single word reverberating around her brain, as she screamed it in her mind over and over, wishing for what she was unsure of, hoping for his life, needing him to be okay. She had been alone, alone as a child, alone except for her loving parents, and then she had Hogwarts, she had friends, she had Harry and Ron, she had a family, a family outside of her family, a family that she chose and far more importantly a family that chose her. And now, now she had Ron, he was slipping between her fingers, as his life teetered on the edge, and she couldn’t pull him to safety, not as he did. He had saved her, saved her in the manor, saved her with his screams, saved her as he pulled her out from the fallen chandelier, and she couldn’t save him now, after everything, all she could do was sit and wait, with Harry’s hand in hers and Ginny’s head resting against her shoulder, her shirt wet with her tears. 

_He can’t die._

The silence she was used to, the silent house, the dark rooms, the lifeless feeling that accompanied them both, but that was only a few weeks worth of silence, she couldn’t do a whole life time, she couldn’t learn to live without him. She couldn’t sleep in an empty bed, where the mattress sagged on her side, she couldn’t eat at an empty table, forever staring at the chair he used to sit in. That couldn’t be her future. Her future was a wedding, her screaming with tears running down her face as she clasped Ron’s hand, pushing their child into the world. That was her future, her future was loud and full of life, not full of death and silence, it had to be.

Hermione believed in a lot of things, but a higher power was not one of them. Despite her beliefs, or lack of them, she prayed, her eyes closed and her head tilted up towards the ceiling, praying, hoping, wishing and pleading. Praying that Ron would stay alive, hoping that he wouldn’t die, wishing for a future spent with him, pleading that he would wake up and be okay. She couldn’t lose him, none of them could, they had all lost far too much. Harry had lost his parents and his godfather, they all lost Fred, they all lost Lupin and Tonks, and so many others, they couldn’t lose Ron, not yet, not until he was old and grey, Hermione wasn’t ready to lose him yet. She couldn’t lose his smile or the way his eyes lit up when he smirked, the way her name sounded rolling off his tongue. Or the way her heart skipped a beat when he told her he loved her, despite hearing it hundreds of times she still wasn’t used to it, and she wouldn’t believe it to be true if it wasn’t for the look on his face. The glittering in his blue eyes, the unabashed look of love he gave her that made her heart sing every time. She couldn’t never see any of that again, she simply couldn’t.

_Live for me, live for us._

Waiting was never something that Hermione did well. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t patient, compared to those that sat around her, to Ron, she was patient, but when it came to this, when she was uncertain of his predicament, she couldn’t wait patiently. Not when her head was screaming out in pain, her body crippled with agony as she sat limp in the chair, wondering when the healers would come to see her, wondering when she would hear the verdict. Ginny squeezed her hand, as Hermione’s mind raced, trying to remember the last time she kissed him. She couldn’t remember the last time they kissed, the last time she felt his warm lips against hers, the last time his fingers skimmed her skin, the last time he moaned against her, the last time... 

Hermione shook her head. This was insane, last time, what was she thinking. The last kiss that she had with him, wasn’t the last time, whatever last times she couldn’t remember wouldn’t become cherished memories, because he was alive, he had to be alive. Alive to kiss her, alive to wrap his arms around her and pull her towards him, alive to kiss the tears off her cheeks and give her his smirk, cocking his head as he raised his eyebrow, reassuring her that he was still him, alive and unchanged. He would tell her that her worrying was stupid, after she was done hitting him, softly, telling him to never do that to her again.

“...I’m sorry. You can see him now if you like?”

Hermione felt her body shudder then shake. Her eyes focused on the healer looking down at the three of them, before she turned quickly and motioned them to follow her. Looking sideways at Ginny, Hermione felt faint with relief. A smile crept at the corners of Ginny’s lips, as she steadied Hermione and guided her down the hallway. It dawned on Hermione as she placed one foot in front of the other, that the healer wasn’t sorry for their loss, Ron was alive, he was still alive, he wasn’t dead yet. Bursting with questions that she couldn’t quite manage to push out her mouth, Hermione walked silently, before the stopped abruptly outside of another white door, exactly like the dozens they had already passed. Apart from one key difference, unlike all of the others, this one had Ron behind it, and as Hermione shrieked inwardly, she couldn’t move her hand to the door handle, as the worry that filled her mind, began seeping out into her body, prohibiting any movement. Harry moved for her, his hand resting on the door handle before twisting it, slowly pushing open the door.

Her heart lodged in her throat, Hermione peered through the crack in the door, as her eyes fell upon Ron, his body still in the bed, wrapped in bandages, his face covered in cuts that were healing, and bruises that were darkening, his skin was clean, his hair no longer matted with blood. His blue eyes concealed by his closed lids, his arms hidden beneath the blankets, he looked peaceful as his lay there, his chest moving up and down, as Hermione felt the air rush out of her.  The breath she didn’t know she was keeping, pushed its way out as her body lurched forward, her body uncontrollably walking into the room, placing one foot after the other softly onto the floor as her eyes took in the scene before her.

“Oh Ron.”

The words escaped her mouth as her hand cupped his face, her fingers pressed underneath his jaw as her thumb ran softly against his chin. Her eyes carefully scanned his body again, and she gasped at the wounds she hadn’t noticed before. Without a thought, she leant her body towards his, placing her lips softly against his, kissing him before pulling back, hoping to find the blue eyes twinkling up at her, as his lips separated, revealing the smile they were concealing. But instead, Ron lay still, unaware of his new company. She couldn’t lose him, and as he lay in the bed before her, she realised she hadn’t, not yet, he was still breathing, he was still alive. He was wounded, but unlike Seth not mortally, he would live, he had to live. Collapsing into the chair beside him, Hermione couldn’t help but smile in relief, smile over at Ginny who no longer gripped Hermione’s but Ron’s instead as Harry stood on the other side of the bed, his hand on Ron’s shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.”

Harry muttered, his eyes firmly resting on Ron as he gave him a curt nod, forbidding him to die. Ron said nothing in return, simply breathing in and out, as Harry’s eyes ran over his body, wishing that he was on that mission with him, that he could have been there to watch his back as he usually was, wishing that he could have prevented this. He hated seeing Ron like this, and he hated feeling like this, knowing that he as incapable of saving him, there was nothing he could do to help, nothing at all. Ron was his first friend, and he would not die on him, not today, not tomorrow, not anytime soon, he wouldn’t allow it.

_I love you._

With those three words bouncing around her head, Hermione remained sitting beside his bed, with Ginny by her side, and Harry across the bed with George sitting beside him, having arrived only minutes after Hermione had fallen into the chair, which she hadn’t risen from for hours now. Wishing that Ron was awake to whisper those three words in return, to smile at her as he said them, to kiss them into her skin, to moan them against her lips, to casually let them fall out of his mouth before he left for work. She loved him, more than anything, more than anyone, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he felt the same. The three of them hadn’t moved in hours, their eyes resting on Ron as they waited for him to wake, knowing they would have to alert the others, but none of them could bring themselves to get up and leave. Lost in her thoughts, in her mind, as the four of them sat silently, their eyes resting on Ron, Hermione’s eyelids started to lower, as her eyes flickered and she felt her body sagging, she was worried, but she was exhausted, and Ron was in front of her, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out...

“’Mione.”

Her eyes shot open. He may have muttered it in his sleep, but his cracked voice rang out through the silent room, causing George to laugh as Ginny and Harry grinned at each other. Ron was still Ron, he was still muttering in his sleep for Hermione, he hadn’t changed at all, he was fine. Silently rising from his seat, George pushed the door shut behind him as he headed off to write letters, needing to alert everyone of Ron’s condition, he was alive and fine, and he was on the brink of consciousness.

“Yes baby I’m right here.”

Hermione smiled down at him, as she intertwined his fingers with hers as she sat softly on the edge of his bed, his hand in hers as she felt his body shift a little. He was waking up, she was sure of it. She had slept beside him for years now, she would wake-up before him occasionally, and watch him as he stepped over the line between sleep and consciousness, she knew what his face looked like when he was dreaming, when he was having a nightmare, and most importantly for her right now, when he was waking up. Closing her eyes, she lowered her lips to him and kissed him lightly, letting her lips linger for a few seconds longer than usual before she pulled back, her eyes flashing open to check on him before a grin spread across his face.

“..love you.” Ron breathed, his voice cracked as he spoke. Hermione kissed his again quickly, before picking her wand off the bedside table and pouring him a glass of water, her hand still clutching Ron’s she brought the glass to his mouth, letting him drink from the straw until he shook his head and cleared his throat.

“I love you too.” Hermione grinned in response before crashing her lips against Ron’s, her lips portraying her urgency, her desperation, her sheer joy that he was awake, he was fine. Moving her body closer to his, she felt him wince against her and she pulled back immediately. “Shit. I’m sorry.” She apologised, remembering that he would be in utter agony, and her desperate attempts to cling onto him, trying to keep the memories of almost losing him at bay, had only made it worse.

“It’s worth the pain.” Ron said, smiling up at Hermione, his fingers lightly wrapped around Hermione’s wrist. He still had burns and blisters healing on the palm of his hand, and cuts so deep on his fingers that almost went to the bone, so it took him all the strength he could muster to lightly lay his hand against her wrist. But the smile she gave him in return made all of it okay, for a moment at least.

“Really?” Hermione asked, before bringing her lips down on his again, and moving her hand to his cheek, ignoring the protests of Ginny and Harry, who know rested together in the same chair, grinning at each other and the two of them.

“Maybe later.” Ron winced, causing Hermione to pull back once again, a laugh sliding out of her mouth as she smiled at Ron, wondering how it was possible to feel this happy so soon after feeling sick with worry.

“Don’t you dare do that again.” Harry’s eyes were fixed on Ron, as Hermione sat beside Ron, her fingers lightly resting on his, not wanting to hurt him but needing to be close to him. Swallowing his witty remark, Ron nodded and Harry’s face relaxed a little as Ron gave him a small smile.

“Sleeping beauty’s finally awake.” George grinned as he pushed open the door, ignoring the scowl Ron gave him, his face flooded with relief when he saw Ron wiggle his toes beneath the blanket, his body was fine, his brain was fine, he was fine.

“Have you called the ministry?” Ron asked. His eyes were on George when he asked, George gave him a small nod. They had been waiting for hours, and they were on their way, Ron needed to be debriefed. Ron wanted to ask about Seth, wanted to ask if they had managed to save him, but he knew they wouldn’t be able to. They were down there together, he died with Ron watching, his body rotter beside Ron’s while he hatched an escape plan, wishing that Seth had lived a few more days.

“Called the folks too, and told Fleur, Bill’s a bit... well preoccupied, so I told Fleur not to tell him until we knew you were awake or...” George answered, lowering himself back into his chair as he spoke.

“Dead.” Ron finished. Three glares were immediately shot his away and he bit down on his tongue, realising that it was too late to retract it now. Giving them all an indignant stare, their glares softened slightly, his death was a possibility, but not one that any of them were willing to accept.

Hermione took a small breath in as the room lapsed into silence. She knew the look on Ron’s face, she knew he was thinking, about Seth most likely, she knew he was worrying, fretting, blaming himself, telling himself that there was more he could have done to save him. She also knew that nothing she could say would change what he was thinking, and the more she argued, the more dead set he would become on blaming himself, not the people that killed Seth. That would come later, that was the aftermath of the worst missions, Ron and Harry were the same, they wouldn’t become careless, but they would change a little, at least for a while, as they searched for revenge.

Ron’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he was asleep again within seconds. Ginny and Hermione exchanged a glance, as Hermione remained where she sat, on the edge of Ron’s bed, watching his chest rise and small as her hand lightly clasped his. Leaning back against Harry, Ginny allowed her eyes to shut as Harry rested his eyes on Ron, wondering what really happened when he was gone. Together they sat in silence for half an hour, sending the ministry people to the café to get a drink while Ron slept, and Ginny headed out with her parents, taking them down to the café after Molly started crying again.

Beneath Hermione’s gaze Ron shifted again, he was waking up again. George was snoring softly where he sat, but a quick kick from Harry woke him up, his eyes shifting from the ceiling, he scowled over at Harry before resting his eyes on his brother again with a smile. Leaning down, Hermione pressed her lips softly against Ron’s, holding the kiss for a few seconds until Ron reciprocated, kissing her lightly before she pulled her lips from his, and smiling down as his blue eyes sparkled.

“I love you.” Ron breathed, his eyes only for Hermione, unaware of Harry and George sitting beside his bed.

“I love you too.” Hermione smiled in reply. Ron’s gaze shifted from her to Harry, and she noticed how his eyes widened in surprise for a second before he looked over at George

“What no threat?” Ron asked, smirking at Harry before his mouth fell, the gesture hurt too much to last for long. Harry sat silently for a second before Ron added, “No don’t you ever almost die on me again?” Hermione’s eyes widened a little as George’s face transformed for a moment, the mask breaking before he fixed it again, looking at his brother the same as before.

Trying to catch his gaze, she looked at George, wondering what he had realised, what he wasn’t telling them, what had scared him, but he had fought to hide.

“Have you called the ministry?” Ron asked, his eyes resting on Harry, who sat dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.

_Oh Merlin._

He’s just waking up, Hermione told herself, this is normal, he is just waking up. The look concealed so carefully by George’s carefully constructed expression obviously didn’t think it was simply his brother waking up, but something more sinister. Ron looked at the three of them, carefully examining each of their faces as he waited for a reply.

“Yes.” George answered, his tone even as he watched his brother with a guarded expression. Ron nodded in reply, before resting his gaze on Hermione, smiling up at her as she smiled down at him, ignoring the hesitant expression she knew Harry wore on his face.

The three of them talked for the next two minutes, Hermione remaining silent, watching Ron with a careful expression, her hand still in his as she felt her body relax, he was just the same as before. Laughing as George joked, his eyes twinkling as he spoke, his sarcasm and wit the same as it always was. Nothing was different. His leg moved under the blanket and she smiled again, he was fine. She was just worrying.

“Have you called the ministry yet?” Ron’s voice cut through Hermione like a knife, severing all hopes that he was okay. Magic could do much, fix almost anything, but the brain, the brain was one of the things where irreparable damage could not be changed no matter what potion or spell was used.

“Ron, you already asked that.” Hermione said softly. Confusion spread across his face, as he glanced over to Harry then George, who both nodded in reply. Looking up at Hermione, Ron didn’t know what to say.

“Oh.” Ron breathed, as George’s mask cracked again, and this time Ron caught it, the look of George’s face was unmistakable, and within in seconds Ron’s expression changed to fear. “How many times?” He asked, Harry raised his eyebrow questioningly but Hermione didn’t need to.

“Three times now.” Hermione answered, her brown eyes finding Ron’s blues, full of fear as she tightened her grip on his hand only slightly, hoping to give him comfort, not pain. George sat silent behind him, his breath caught in his throat as Harry watched him intently. All four of them remained silent, three of them waiting for Ron to answer.

“Three times?” Ron said after a few seconds, his gaze still fixed to Hermione’s.

“You’ve said it three times now.” Hermione answered, trying to keep the tears that were forming in her eyes from rolling down on her cheeks. She could feel George’s eyes on hers, as she wondered, like Harry, whether this was just his brain waking up, or if this was something more.

“Said what three times now?” Ron asked after a pause. His worried look had vanished and he now watched her curiously.

“Ron.” George breathed, his voice thick, as he stared up at his brother.

“Yes?” Ron replied, looking over at his brother who said nothing in return. George didn’t trust his voice to speak without cracking, and he couldn’t talk while trying to hold his mask on, especially as he saw Hermione’s expression, now that Ron was no longer looking at her. Waiting for his brother to reply, Ron turned to Harry and asked, “Harry, have you sent the ministry a letter yet? They need to know.”

_Please no._


	3. Urgent

_“Have you called the ministry?”_

Ron had asked only minutes after waking. Hermione remembered how his eyes sat on George as he asked the question, how he looked nervous but determined, and Hermione could see it in his eyes, he wished that Seth could have survived a few more days, just a few more days, and then his family wouldn’t have to bury him… Hermione couldn’t think of that right now, she knew it was selfish, she knew that, but the look in Ron’s eyes, the pain that Seth’s family must feel, she was so close to being like Seth’s family, with their loved one simply a memory, she couldn’t think of that now, not when nothing was certain. Ron breathed in and out like he always did, he looked the same, his voice, that smile, everything was the same, but nothing was the same.

_“Have you called the ministry?”_

Ron had asked again, his eyes resting on Harry this time, and in that moment Hermione could have sworn her heart skipped a beat, her breathing stopped and she pushed all thoughts out of her brain, convincing herself Ron was just waking up, he had a head trauma, this was normal, it happened all the time to Muggles, why couldn’t this just be something simple.  But the carefully constructed expression on George’s face did little to quell the fears and suspicions making a home in Hermione’s brain, but she couldn’t think like that, not with Ron watching her, watching them all, wondering, scared, so she had smiled, smiled at him, but that was all she could do. She couldn’t talk and laugh like the others did, she couldn’t. And just as the worry started to seep out of her brain, and her limbs started to relax and she could feel herself smiling, for real this time, as she looked into Ron’s eyes, they were twinkling, just like they did when he laughed, and then his leg twitched and Hermione had looked down, looked down for only a moment…

_“Have you called the ministry yet?”_

Ron had asked again. And this time, the words cut through Hermione, cut through her hopes that he would be alright. Her future couldn’t be this, she wanted noise, she wanted a marriage, a baby, a life, not Ron confused, asking the same question over and over. She couldn’t breathe, she racked her brain for spells, but there was nothing, she knew there was nothing she could do, the brain was not just an organ, if the brain suffered irreparable damage could never be repaired, no matter how smart she was or how hard she tried.

_“Said what three times now?”_

Hermione couldn’t breathe, she simply couldn’t when his expression looked so blank, Hermione couldn’t talk, couldn’t answer him none of them could, none of them trusted themselves to speak, their voices would crack, their expressions would drop, they were barely holding it together, and Hermione couldn’t think.

_“Harry, have you sent the ministry a letter yet? They need to know.”_

Hermione had wanted to shake him when he’d ask, ‘Enough about the damn ministry’ she had wanted to yell, but it wouldn’t do anything, it wouldn’t help anyone, especially not Ron, but it wasn’t as though he would actually remember moments later. Ginny was still downstairs in the café with their parents, and Hermione needed her with them, she needed her, and she knew that Ginny should be here. But she couldn’t think, not with Ron asking about the ministry, not with Ron’s brain not functioning, not with Ron…

_Don’t ask about the ministry, please Ron._

She was still holding his hand, lost in thought as Ron looked up at her, not understanding, not following what was happening. Hermione could hear voices, she knew Ron had asked her something, but she wasn’t listening, she couldn’t listen, she didn’t want to be patient, she didn’t want to speak to him softly, reassuring him that everything was going to be okay. Because nothing was okay, she had no idea if anything would ever be okay again. She doesn’t want to smile, she wants to scream, scream and throw things, hear them smash and break against the walls, she doesn’t want to speak and be forgotten, she wants, no, she needs Ron to be okay.

“Hermione.”

Ron is speaking to her, watching her expectantly, and as he squeezed her hand, pulling her out of her head, she didn’t want to listen, she didn’t want to hear what she was sure was coming, she didn’t want to know about the ministry, but she smiles at Ron despite the warning in her heart, despite the fact she can barely breathe, despite the fact that she was seconds away from crying, her eyes were clouding over and she could feel the lump in her throat, but she ignored it, and looked into Ron’s eyes, no longer twinkling but scared and afraid.

“Yeah baby.”

Hermione breathed, she could see George beside her, he had stood up, _when did he do that?_ , she thinks absentmindedly. Harry is on the other side of the bed now, staring down at Ron, they are all looking at Ron, but Ron only has eyes for her, and Hermione can’t take it, she doesn’t want to be in this room, she can feel the walls closing in around her, she wants to get out, to run screaming down the halls, she can’t stay in here, it’s too confining, too small, too… the room smells like death and Hermione can’t handle it. She can’t handle that Ron looks like death, she can’t handle any of this, and she doesn’t want to.

“Tell me, _please._ ”

Hermione stiffens at the question, and her eyes dart to Harry, he is crying she can see that now, and as she tastes the salt in her mouth, she realises that she’s crying too, the tears have been leaking from her eyes ever since Ron asked about the ministry that third time, and looking at him now, looking down at him, she realised that he was so worried, so anxious, and so guilty.

“I’m sorry.”

Ron added, his voice soft and broken. And that’s what cracked Hermione. He was hurt, he was bleeding out and in agony, and he was asking the same question over and over, but not because he wanted to, not because he wanted to be a smart ass, but because he couldn’t remember asking it. He couldn’t remember what he’d done to make their faces look like this, to have George staring at his shoes, wondering if this is the day he loses another brother. Or what he’d done to have Harry staring at him with sad green eyes, barely able to hold himself together, barely able to stand let alone speak, or to have Hermione unable to look at him, unable to formulate a sentence because everything was too hard, and words were far too tangible. His mouth opens again and Hermione cuts him short, she can’t hear him ask it again,

“We’ve called the ministry.”

The answer doesn’t seem to please Ron, he simply looks even more distraught as he scans their faces, he is chewing on the corner of his mouth now, and he pulls his hand away from Hermione’s his eyes fixed on George, staring into his big brothers eyes, he doesn’t seem to notice the small gasp that escapes Hermione’s mouth when his blankets lift a little and she can see a thick reddening bandage wrapped around his upper thigh, he’s wounds are bleeding, and Hermione doesn’t know what to do.

“Get out.”

Ron’s voice is soft, and Hermione gaze is fixed on him, wondering whether she misheard him, wondering who he was talking to.

“George stays.”

Ron added, and Hermione staggered backwards, only a step and her legs hit the chair behind her, Ron’s eyes were for George only and Hermione looked desperately over to Harry who was as bewildered as she was.

“GET THE HELL OUT!”

His yell reverberates around the room. There is no way she misheard him this time, and selfishly a small part of her is glad that she can leave the room, the room is too small, too hot, too horrible, and as Harry wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls the door closed behind them, Hermione lets out the emotions she was keeping inside. She doesn’t understand it, how he could change so suddenly, and she can’t think straight, not now, she can’t predict what’s coming. Her heart is hammering against her ribs, and she is sobbing now, her chest heaving up and down, her tears spilling on the front of Harry’s shirt as he hugs her close into his chest. He can’t take her to Ginny like this, not with Molly and Arthur with them, so instead he waves to a healer, hoping that this will work.

“I’m sorry Mum it’s urgent.”

Ginny said a few minutes later. Her fingers already wrapping around the hurriedly written note, she doesn’t want her mother to see it, any of it, and she knows Molly can recognise Harry’s writing by now. She feels horrible for lying to her mother, she does, but that isn’t what is important right now. Upstairs Ron’s brain isn’t working. Upstairs George is probably losing his shit completely. Upstairs Hermione is sobbing into Harry’s shirt. Upstairs Harry is barely holding it together himself. Ginny can’t be downstairs, she can’t be sipping coffee when Ron is slipping through their fingers, while his life, his memories, his brain teeters on the edge.

“Don’t they kn-”

Molly started, but stopped as Ginny gave her a look. It took a lot to silence Molly, but Ginny could do it, and as Ginny rose from the table, she gave her mother a kiss on the forehead before heading towards the staircase. She walked as slow as her body would permit, she wanted to rush, she needed to rush, to get to Ron, to George, to Hermione, to Harry. Hoping to god her father could keep her mother down here for another hour she reached the top of the stairs, her hands clasping as the door fell shut behind her, she didn’t know what to expect but this certainly wasn’t it.

The noise hit her first, wrapping around her, leaking in to all of her, her brain, her body, it wasn’t just around her it was inside her, just another noise that she would never be able to forget, just another moment to add to her scrapbook of sorrow and fear, but it wasn’t the fear that hit her no, it was something else.

_It was panic, hot white panic._

Ginny paused, involuntarily, her mind had to adjust, it had to adjust but she couldn’t. Ron’s door sat open, but she couldn’t see in it, she couldn’t from this vantage point, and she couldn’t move. There was too much, too much everything, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, her heart was beating too fast and her eyes remained fixed on Hermione.

She had heard Hermione scream before, she had heard a person scream before, but not like this, not so strangled and hurt, she sounded like a wounded animal, and Harry’s arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her back, but she was trying with all her might to get free, she was wailing, her face red, her cheeks tearstained, her legs kicking and her arms struggling, and Ginny couldn’t move.

_The lights were too bright, too obnoxious, too…_

Ginny felt her body shudder then shake, she was moving, she could move now and she didn’t want to be able to, she didn’t want to have full control over her body, she couldn’t have full control over her body, because that means she would be able to walk past Hermione, Hermione who paused for a fraction of a second, her wailing ceased for a moment as she spotted Ginny, and then she went back to screaming, and Ginny couldn’t look at her, she couldn’t look at Hermione, she couldn’t look at Harry, all she could do was keep moving forward keep going towards the door way, needing to get to Ron, needing to…

“I couldn’t do it, I told him I didn’t want to do it, it was a dumb idea, I co-”

George muttered his head in his hands. Ginny’s eyes skimmed over Ron, Ron was still, his face white, the blood standing out against his skin, like red flecks of paint covering a canvas, red flecks of pain that covered his body, and George was on the floor, his legs pushed up against his chest and his back against the wall, and Ginny ignored the healers who stood around Ron and dropped to the floor next to George.

“I couldn’t do it.”

George repeated, louder this time, looking up at Ginny, looking through her, not really seeing her, not seeing anything. His body was shaking and Ginny ‘s tongue refused to move, George’s eyes were wide and desperate and Ginny felt like throwing up.

“I wouldn’t do it.”

George muttered, his voice cracking, snapping Ginny out of her mind. Ron was on the bed, healers surrounded him and Ginny couldn’t focus on Ron, not right this second, he had to be alive, if he were dead the healers would have stopped, he had to be alive, there was no other option, Ginny wouldn’t let herself believe there was any other option.

“Wouldn’t do what?”

Ginny asked, the window was blown and the wind was whipping into the room, whipping her hair into her face but she didn’t care, it wasn’t her hair that was obscuring her vision, it was tears that were bubbling to the surface, but she refused to let herself cry, she couldn’t cry, not yet.

“There’s this spell.”

George’s eyes locked with Ginny’s and he saw her, saw her in front of him for a moment before he looked away, his face falling against his knees as his body continued to shake. Hermione was still screaming, and although Ginny had tried to block her out, those screams were turning her gut.

“ _RON!”_

Hermione screamed for him and he didn’t reply. Hermione screamed for him and he didn’t move, he didn’t breathe, and Ginny couldn’t take it anymore. She bit down on the inside of her cheek as she tried to block Hermione out, tried to focus on George, tried to ignore the sound that was making her stomach fold in on itself, making her breath catch and her whole body shake, all of which she was desperately trying to avoid.

“Of course there is.”

Ginny answered, as she placed her hands on George’s knees and willed him to look up at her, she couldn’t have this conversation with his hair, Ron was dying, Hermione was screaming and Harry was sobbing and Ginny couldn’t do anything about those things right now, but she could try and calm George down, as much as she could.

“It’s dangerous, and unpredictable and I wouldn’t use it on him, I wouldn’t do it.”

George’s voice is grave and Ginny tries to ignore the screaming in her head now, it’s bad enough having Hermione’s screaming fill in every gap around her, but her own screams, she doesn’t need them too. Dangerous. Ginny can work with dangerous, hell she’s lived dangerous. But it’s the unpredictable that makes her stomach churn.

_And there it is again, panic._

The screaming hasn’t stopped. By Merlin, she wished it had, but it hadn’t. Hermione was quieter now, but she was still going and Ginny could hear Harry trying to calm Hermione down, trying to relax her, but his voice was shaking and Ginny could tell he couldn’t even relax himself. Ron was Harry’s brother too, and there was nothing any of them could do right now.

“He wouldn’t listen, he wouldn’t listen Gin, he wouldn’t.”

Ginny can hear the desperation in his voice, and she wonders why Ron could be so stupid, how he could be idiotic enough to think that using a spell that was unpredictable and dangerous on his brain could possibly be a good idea. Ginny wants to shake him, she wants to punch him and yell, but she can’t, so instead she stares at George and waits for him to elaborate.

“Where are you taking him?”

Ginny hears Hermione yell before she notices that the bed Ron is on is moving out of the room, she pauses for a moment, to see if Hermione’s question will fetch a reply, but there is nothing, there is silence for a few seconds, before Hermione’s screams turn into desperate sobs, that threaten to ruin the cool that Ginny is barely holding onto, she doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to be emotional, she is barely breathing, and yet, she needs George to finish, and she needs to stay strong, while the others can’t. Focussing on George and hoping to a god that some Muggle’s believe in that Ron will be okay, and that her parents will stay the fuck downstairs, Ginny blocks out Hermione.

“What did he do?”

Ginny asked. She already knew the answer of course she did. This was Ron. He was her brother, she knew him, he was bloody stubborn just like she was, and he had learnt from the twins, nothing is ever impossible, you just have to think about it from a different angle. But Ron couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t be dying, this couldn’t be over, she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready to lose another brother, she wasn’t ready for this, no, no, he couldn’t die, she wouldn’t let him.

_Please Ron._

“He was yelling and he was moving, and his wounds were splitting open, and he was still moving, his flesh was fucking torn open and he was still trying to… I called the healers, to get him sedated or something and then Hermione came in and she was fucking hysterical.” George can’t look at Ginny while he talks, he can’t focus on any spot on the wall either, his eyes don’t stop moving, his hands don’t stop shaking, and Ginny’s gaze in fixed on George’s expression.

“She’s screaming about him getting sedated?”

George’s expression isn’t carefully constructed like it was before, she didn’t have to be there to see it to know it would have been, she wasn’t there when it cracked, but now, the whole damn thing had collapsed, and the emotions were everywhere, his eyes were red rimmed, and his face was still wet, and Ginny utterly despised the look on his face right now, because there was nothing she could do about it, nothing to reassure him with, nothing to calm him down, nothing at all. All the books she read, the spells she knew, nothing would help, she learnt that when Fred died, nothing could ever work.

“No.”

George answered. Of course she wasn’t screaming like that because they sedated him, but Ginny had hoped that maybe Hermione had misinterpreted the situation, maybe she thought when they sedated him they killed him; Ginny shook her head, that wasn’t it, she knew that wasn’t why Hermione screamed like that, that never could have happened. No matter how emotional Hermione was she wasn’t an idiot, and the looks on her and Harry’s faces when Ginny had stood in front of the door to the stairs, those expressions weren’t formed by confusion or misinterpretation, they were made from fear, panic and fear.

“The healers have wands Gin.”

The words hit Ginny and for a split second she just hears there, they don’t impact her, she doesn’t connect the dots, for a split second she isn’t sure, for a split thing anything is possible, Ron is okay and the world isn’t turned upside. But then that split second is over.

Connecting the dots now Ginny wished she was still trapped in that split second, still unaware of why Hermione was sobbing so violently it made Ginny’s heart break, still unaware why George looked like he was going to either pass out or throw up.

“That little shit did on himself didn’t he?”

Ginny asked, already knowing the answer. She knew it when George had opened his mouth, she knew the answer when she walked into the room, when she reached the top of the staircase right before she laid eyes on the screaming Hermione, when she received Harry’s hurried note to get her upstairs. Why else would Ron kick Harry and Hermione out of the room?

_Why would he do something so dumb?_

The answer appears in the forefront of her brain only a split after she asks herself, of course she knew why, he would have been petrified, the three of them watching him, barely concealed expressions, then straight up horror when they realised his brain wasn’t, well just wasn’t. He knew that George wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him, that George would tell him, and the truth made him do what he did. For one simple reason,

_Because he was scared._

“It happened so fast, he was lying down, not breathing and then he was moving, and grabbing the wand, and I was lunging and yelling, and more healers were coming, and him aimed the wand at his head, and…”George started, but he can’t finish it.

_And what!!?!_

His eyes scrunch shut and he inhales sharply and Ginny cannot wait patiently, not when everything hurts, not when her head is pounding, not when there are so many possibilities, not when she isn’t sure what has happened, even though she already knows, of course she already knows, but she waits all the same. “There was a flash of blue light and then the window exploded and the lights went out and he went still.” He added, and Ginny’s can’t breathe.

_I can’t lose another one._

She is vaguely aware of her body tipping backwards and George sounded her name. She knows she is just fainting, she’s exhausted and scared, and George’s terrified expression, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out, no sounds that Ginny can hear, his hands gripping into her shoulder blades, is the last thing she sees before her vision whites out and her eyes fall shut. The last thought she has before her brain shuts down completely is,

_It’s finally quiet._


	4. Silence

George scrunched his eyes shut, his face pressed against his palms, he desperately tries to breathe. He can’t lose another brother, he won’t lose another brother, not like this, not like this… In front of him Ginny is being hoisted up onto a make shift stretcher, but he can’t watch. She’s okay, he knows she is okay, but he can’t watch her be wheeled out of the room, cannot watch another sibling being wheeled out of this room. He can’t think, can’t breathe. The room is too bright, the air is too tight, his body is too hot, his brain too loud. 

_Please save him._

Hermione is screaming again, screaming loudly, her wailing almost loud enough to shatter windows but Ron had already taken care of the window in this room, her wailing almost loud enough to shut down George’s brain for good but that won’t take much more. He can hear the wheels, he can hear them stop for a moment, can hear Hermione’s knees hit the floor, can hear her screams turn to wails, and more than anything he wishes he was passed out like Ginny, that he didn’t have to hear this, that he didn’t have to think, have to be awake for any of this. He wants to go to sleep and wake up and have it all be over. He doesn’t want to have his nails chewed down as low as he could, he doesn’t want to have his skin split and bleeding, he doesn’t want to be thrumming his head against the wall behind him, to have his teeth biting down on gum in attempt to stop himself for yelling out.

_This is all **my** fault._

He never should have mentioned the fucking spell. He never should have told Ron, but he couldn’t not tell him, he was his little brother, it was so hard to say no to those eyes, especially when they were wide and pleading. He should have watched him more closely, made sure he didn’t get the wand, made sure that he was safe. He was his little brother, his baby brother, it was his job, no is his job to look after him, his job to keep him safe. Fred would have kept him safe, Fred would have known what to do.

“But Fred isn’t here.”

He muttered to himself, teeth scraping against skin, words spat out into the empty room. Hermione has stopped sobbing now, has stopped screaming, has- Eyes blink, hands jerk away from his face and George is on his feet, his head spins and he steadies himself against the wall. Blood rushing to his head, ground unsteady, George wants to sit back down again, wants to wallow but he can’t, not now, not with Ginny on a stretcher and Ron probably lying dead somewhere.

_Not another one._

Fingers curl around the door frame, steadying George as he face whitens at the sight in front of him. He knew he should have stayed in the room, he knew he should have stayed on the floor, but it’s too late for that now. Now he is standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed to the centre of the room, his heart threatening to stop beating forever, threatening to just give up. Absentmindedly he thinks that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. Ginny is safe he knows that, logic tells him she is fine, but she just passed out of them, she wasn’t fine, none of them were fucking fine, least of all Ron. It was his damn fault, he should have been able to protect Ron, he should have stopped him from getting the healers wand, should have stopped him from pointing that thing at his bloody head, he never should have told him the damn spell in the first place. It was his fault, he hesitated just for a moment, for no more than a second and then everything moved slowly, he was slowly reaching for Ron, but he was too slow, the spell was done and the lights blew and the window exploded and he was knocked off his feet. And now, in front of him as he grips onto the door frame unsure whether he can take anything else tonight, is Hermione, laid out on a stretcher, finally quiet, finally peaceful and finally calm.

“They put her to sleep.”

Harry explained, his eyes meeting George’s before returning to Hermione, trailing after her as the two healers push her towards her own room. He can’t process what is happening, doesn’t want to. Harry’s hands dig into his pockets and he takes a few steps backwards, sliding down the wall until he reaches the floor, legs stretching out in front of him, beating gravity at its own game. It’s only a matter of time before he legs gave out on him, he wouldn’t be standing for much longer, Ginny and Hermione are safe now, asleep and calm, but Ron’s fate he still doesn’t know but what he knows for certain is he only had a few minutes before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, not of his own accord. Ginny would know what to say to George now, but Ginny’s asleep and it’s just Harry and George, no one else knows what is going on, no one else was privy to the screaming, to the shock and the pain of the last few minutes, and neither of them can tell Molly and Arthur anything until either they are forced to or they actually have concrete answers to give.

“Good.”

Brown eyes meet green, holding the gaze for a  few minutes, George finds his heart beat slows, the erratic pounding against his chest calms, the ringing in his head that had been alongside Hermione’s screams fades away, and he blinks, his fingers still digging into the doorframe, holding himself up as the room, no, the world sways beneath his feet. Everything is so uncertain, and he won’t, can’t lose another brother, can’t lose anyone else, not a single person, but he may not have a choice. A question slips to the forefront of his brain and he doesn’t want to answer it, doesn’t want to think about, doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Ron lives but not as himself, the possibility that he takes up permanent residence in this place, a joke comes to mind but he pushes that aside for later, when the humour will be well received, when they can look back on this moment and laugh at the fear they felt, thinking it was ridiculous that they were that scared, but George isn’t sure a time like that is in store for them this time.

“I told them to let Ginny sleep for the next few hours.”

Harry told him. He seemed to be asking George what he thought of that, but George doesn’t answer, can’t answer, not yet, so he looks away, turns his neck so he’s looking back inside of the room, the room where he may have lost Ron for good, the room that may hold the memories of all Ron’s lasts, and George stares out of the hole where the window was and nods to himself, Harry was right, right to tell them to let Ginny sleep, right to let her sleep through this. He knows she will be mad if she wakes up and Ron’s dead and she missed it, she will never forgive them if that happens, but it’s better this way, it’s better if she sleeps through the waiting, that she doesn’t let herself hope if there is none to be had, better that doesn’t entertain the possibility that Ron will be alright if that is not the case. Hoping only makes things hurt worse when your hope is misplaced, hoping only ever helps if you get what you want, and in George’s experience, so often those who hope do not get what they want.

“Good.”

George replied, his gaze on Harry again as he tries to give him a smile but only manages to look pained, only manages to nod his head a little and Harry nods back, knowing full well that he can’t smile, not now, not with everything that’s happening. He can’t smile, not even a small flicker on light on his expression, everything is dark, there is no light in him now, it was snuffed out the moment that window blew. All these spells trapped in his head, all these skills he has, he was the boy who lived for merlin’s sake, he killed He Who Must Not Be Named and yet, there is nothing that he can do to help Ron, nothing he can do to help his best friend, his brother. There is nothing he could do for Hermione except get her put to sleep. There is nothing that he can say to George now. He cannot ask George to tell him that everything is going to be okay, because neither of them know that it will be, he cannot reassure George that everything will be fine, because he isn’t sure that it is. There is nothing he can offer George now, nothing by silence, not even a small smile.

_“Have you called the ministry?”_

The question runs through both of their minds, keeps them silent, keeps them locked inside of their heads. Ron had been so scared once he discovered something was wrong, Ron had been so scared that they were scared, he had wanted to fix himself to put them out of pain, he had wanted to- Harry shakes his head, he can’t think about that, not now, not when he needs to give Arthur a progress report on how Ron’s doing, not when all he wants to do is cry, wants to wail like Hermione, to scream like she did, but he can’t, not yet, that can come later, now he needs to steady his breathing and work at eventually stopping his body from shaking and allow himself to his feet. His gaze falls on George, George who is staring at the floor, his expression open but trying so hard not to be.

_You have to be okay._

George thinks as he tries to reconstruct his expression, tries to fix the cracks in his mask, knows that someone needs to go downstairs and talk to his parents, that someone needs to run interference, needs to make sure that they don’t come up here, but he can’t fix the cracks, there are no cracks, his mask has crumbled into fucking smithereens and he can’t pretend that everything is just dandy, he can’t pretend that Ron will probably be fine, that everything will be a-okay. The world is spinning and it won’t stop. He won’t faint, he knows he won’t, but he wishes that he will, wishes that something will silence the thoughts that are crashing and colliding in his head, wishes that he could sleep for the next few hours, that he could wake up and this would be over, but he can’t make Harry do this on his own, can’t leave his parents, so he pushes himself off the doorframe and steps away from the room, steps towards Harry, and tries desperately to build a new mask, to have a perfectly constructed expression by the time his feet are stepping into the lift because he won’t be able to take the stairs, he just knows he won’t be able to.

“George?”

Harry asked, eyes on him, tracking his movements, watching cautiously, nervously, trying to assess George’s expression while attempting to look as though that is not at all what he is trying to do. George pauses, foot hovering above ground, and his expression wavers, he doesn’t know what to say, cannot think of words so instead he simply meets those piercing green eyes and tries to tell him everything without words. He cannot remain on this floor, cannot remain by this room for a minute longer. People are coming to fix the window he knows, healers or someone will be here soon and he doesn’t want to still be here when they arrive, he wants to gone, doesn’t want to be questioned by anyone, doesn’t want to be watched out of the corner of an eye. But he knows that he can’t go down to see his parents, knows that he won’t be able to face them.

“Ginny and Hermione will be in the same room right? I could get us cup of tea from the healers station and we could go wait with them.”

George’s voice doesn’t shake and he is proud of himself for that. He doesn’t let his mask crumble again, doesn’t let the dam break, doesn’t let himself turn into the mess he is threatening to become, doesn’t let the scream that is teetering to the edge of tongue out. Instead of letting his mask shatter and fall, he walks towards Harry, and helps him up off the floor. Instead of opening the door to his emotions and letting them take control, he asks a healer where they put Hermione and Ginny and asks him to take Harry there. Instead of screaming at everything around him, he makes them both tea as promised and heads towards Ginny and Hermione’s room. Everything is falling around him, the ground shaking, the room spinning, he doesn’t mind change, but this change he will not accept, not for a moment and he resists the urge to throw the cups that are in his hands against the wall, resists against the urge to make this smash, to make things break just like he is breaking.

_Sleep?_

The suggestion pops into Harry’s brain but he pushes it away, he can’t sleep now, his mind won’t let him, and yet its suggests sleep to him, teasing, taunting, knowing that he will be awake for hours to come, knows that he may not be able to sleep properly for weeks, months even after today. Tea half-drunk for the third time, Harry remains slouched in his chair, his eyes on Hermione, his eyes on Ginny, watching them both, wondering if they are dreaming, or if they are simply paused, locked in a split second of nothingness that extends for far longer than they are aware of. They look so fragile asleep, their expressions open, the hard lines of their faces softening, while they sleep they don’t look like they do when they are awake, they don’t carry the same loss, the same pain, don’t have eyes that tell you they have seen the unimaginable, don’t have smiles that tells you they have known great sorrow. Asleep they have a peace that they will never achieve while awake, a carefree look that they will never be able to grasp, not with the world on their shoulders. George and Harry need them awake now, they’re the brilliant ones, but it is best they sleep, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to wake them anyway, couldn’t tell them that they still know nothing, couldn’t tell them that Ron’s future is still uncertain, that his life may still hang in the balance, that he may be dead.

George never did it well. He couldn’t sit still, not when he didn’t want to and now he most certainly does not want to, he wants to get up and move, wants to be able to be useful, wants to have a solution, wants to be able to think of something to say to offset the mood but nothing comes to mind, nothing at all. So he sits his hand holding Ginny’s as he watches her sleeping face, trying to find peace in his baby sisters expression, trying to keep his breathing even and his heart beat slow. Charlie’s with his parents now, Bill and Fleur are down there too. He doesn’t know how much they know, isn’t sure, but he’s glad they aren’t here. He loves his family, more than anything, but he doesn’t want to see their expressions now, doesn’t want to see his mother crying yet again, doesn’t want to see his father comforting her and crying too, he can’t take any more of it. So Harry and him sit in silence, just as they have done for the last two and half hours.

_154 minutes._

George has been told before that time is not linear, he has been told that time does not speed up or slow down merely our perception differs with our mood or mind set; waiting for news on Ron time feels both infinitely long and also as if it zipping by. Lost in his head he is able to play memories to himself just like he did after Fred died, and time speeds up in a sense but also it is tremendously slow, the hands ticking by at an increasingly tortuously slow pace, each tick of the clock reverberating through his mind, and he wonders with each breath whether Ron is still breathing, wonders with each beat of his heart if Ron’s heart his still beating, wonders with each thought that collides with another if Ron’s thoughts are still spinning and erupting and simply existing inside of Ron’s mind.

_9240 seconds._

Harry glances at his watch, 9258 seconds, he corrects himself. It has been too long, far too long without news, but Harry doesn’t want to ask, afraid of the answer he might receive. So instead of answering a question that may shatter the tiny sliver of hope he is still grasping onto with all his might, Harry refills his cup of tea and takes a slow sip, his eyes on Hermione’s face as he wonders how they could possibly tell her Ron’s fate if he had in fact died while she was sleeping. Heart hammering against chest, eyelids flutter closed and Harry tries not to think about what will come, instead he tries to think about how this could turn out fine, but all he finds himself thinking of is trying to pinpoint the last time he saw Ron laugh, the last time he say him smirk, the last time Ron had-

_I can’t take this anymore._

Teeth clamp down on gum, breath hot as it puffs out of his nose, George tries to stay patient, tries to be okay with the waiting, but he can’t be- of course he can’t be, he needed to know about Ron’s fate hours ago, and yet here he is waiting. Calloused palms press against tear stained cheeks and he has to tear his eyes from his little sister’s face, has to block out the thoughts that are threatening to spill from his mouth, he can’t voice them, not when Harry may still be holding onto hope. Shoes tap against the tiles, not tapping out a rhythm, not a song stuck in his head, merely a tap of nervous energy that is overwhelming him, the nervous energy that has him on edge, has him want to get up and leave, has him to get up and do something, he can’t remain still, he has to-

No one has talked to them.

Not a single healer have come to see them. Everyone else has, popped a head through the doorway before being greeted by barely concealed glares, they wanted to be alone, just Harry and George sitting beside the beds of Ginny and Hermione, not wanting to be disturbed, not wanting to be told that everything would be okay, not wanting to see expressions fall and harden keeping the words inside, giving Harry and George the look that says ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. Ron isn’t dead, George hopes, and he doesn’t want to see that pitiful look on peoples faces before anything is confirmed, blocks out the whispered, ‘Poor Weasley’s’, ‘May lose another son’, ‘Poor parents’, that flow unchecked form the mouths of passer-by’s, not knowing that Harry and George are awake, not knowing fingers itch to fire curses at them for their mutterings.

_Piss off._

The words threaten to slip out as he hears foot falls pause as they reach the door, but he turns before speaking and finds a healer standing underneath the door frame. Panic knits in his stomach, and the world shakes, the floor crumbles beneath him and he grips the armrests in the chair hoping for some stability but knowing he will find none. Behind him Harry is silent, head cocked to the left as he observes the healer, no doubt trying to ascertain what news the healer brings, whether it is bad or good, whether he-

“Where is he?”

George doesn’t mean to demand not really, but when those words slip out they are demanding. He wants to know where his brother is, needs to know that his brother is safe, wants to be told that his brother isn’t on his way downstairs to be kept with the dead or already in his long term position in the long term ward on the other floor. He needs to know where he is. Hermione sometimes mentions ripping off the bandaid, pulling it fast and getting it over with and that is what he wants to happen now, he can’t handle the waiting much longer, it has been hours, so many hours since they all arrived, hours since Ron was waking up and asking about the ministry, and now it has been hours since Ron pointed a wand at his temple and potentially turned his brain into soup.

“Should we wake them?”

For a split second George wants Harry’s question to remain unanswered, wants another few moments of not knowing, because as soon as the healer answers everything else will slip away. Right now with Ron’s condition unconfirmed, he can be bother stable or dead, he can be happy and already awake and asking for them, or silent and staring at the ceiling above him barely blinking unaware of his surrounding, and George doesn’t want to know. Because when the healers answer falls off the tip of his tongue and breaks the new silence in the room, the moment will be gone, and George will know, he will know whether or not his baby brother is still-

“No.”

The answer hits him, totally unprepared for the shake of the head that follows it, George glances up at the healer, eyes focusing and blinking trying not to cry, trying not to demand a more thorough answer, but instead he simply stares, not knowing what to say. Pulse flickers and slows before it beats faster, the pounding in his ears, blood pulsing through him and he wants to stop breathing just for a moment let the world fall away to darkness, but instead he looks to Harry who looks to him for guidance that he cannot give, strength that he has lost, questions that that he himself can neither speak nor answer.

“No?”

Harry asked, the word no more than a whisper, not wanting to break the silence in the room, so instead of splitting it and sending the room into turmoil, his voice is quiet and his nails dig into skin, holding on to himself, holding onto the thought that Ron may yet be alive. Tongue not working, lips clamped shut, George has nothing to offer, so he ignores the way that Harry’s eyes flit to him again before they return to the healer, eyes sharp and demanding, asking for answers and asking for them right fucking now.

“No. This will be a few hours, I suggest you all go home and-”

The healer started, his voice soft and practised. He was used to families, used to not being able to give straight answers, and he can tell that these two will not accept them. He doesn’t need to know who they are to be able to tell, but he does know them, but name not of person, and he knows that they will not leave not even if they were physically dragged out of St Mungo’s and tossed onto the street. Harry’s eyes darken as the healer keeps talking, and he bites back words that would no doubt have snarled, and George’s eyes refocus and the brown turns black with determination.

“No.”

George answered, cutting across the healers suggestion, his voice almost vicious, his brown eyes attacking the healer silently from across the room. His stomach lurches at the very suggestion, they have been here for hours, waiting and watching, needing answers, they won’t leave now, can’t leave now. Could never leave their brother here alone, could never let him die alone, could never let him wake up and find himself abandoned. There is no way that they can leave, and they won’t, family don’t leave, they stick with you through everything, and _Merlin_ there is no way George or any of them will leave now.

“Why can’t we see him?”

Harry asked, his voice dripping with authority that is offset by the tremble. He is Harry Potter after all, he does hold some authority but not with this apparently, now his name is not important, nothing about him is, nothing about either of them is. No matter who they are, what they have done neither of them can help Ron now and the healer doesn’t answer, he turns and walks out of the room, heading somewhere else, perhaps on a break, perhaps to tell another family devastating news, perhaps to tell a family the news that have been hoping to hear, perhaps to tell a family absolutely nothing, like he just told Harry and George.

It envelopes them, keeps them safe for the next three hours. Even when Hermione wakes first, she gives them a tired look, mixed with pain and hope and sorrow and they tell her without words that they still don’t know anything. She slinks further against the bed, eyes empty as she stares up at the ceiling. She takes the water given to her, drinks it because she knows she must, and she is half way through a cup of tea when Ginny wakes. Ginny wakes without words, questions shining in her eyes, inquiries on the tip of the tongue, but as she scans the room, soaks up the energy, she too says nothing, already knows the answers, well the basic ones at least. Slow bodies filter into the room, no one says a thing. The minutes stretch by, no one cries, not a single sob, the only sound is that of breathing and hearts betting collectively and knitting needles as Molly knits a scarf.

_Dare we ask?_

No one has breathed a word by the time dawn breaks, the sun rises in the sky but none of them can see it, in St Mungo’s the world outside could be destroyed and they would be none the wiser. Ginny and Hermione share a bed, Hermione’s head tucked beneath Ginny’s chin as she holds her close, her words saying nothing but comfort and support leaking out of every pore. Harry sits at the end of the bed, one leg folded beneath the other as he plays chess with Charlie as they wait. Fleur sits on Bill’s lap, her fingers absentmindedly tangling themselves in his hair. No one speaks because they know that words will lead to shouting and tears will be shed, and they don’t want to cry, not yet, not now. They don’t want to reminisce, don’t want to talk about Ron’s past when they are so unsure of his future. George has his back to the wall, his legs spread out in front of him as he plays a Muggle game, Scrabble he thinks, with Percy, Arthur and Neville. None of them are really paying attention but Percy occasionally huffs in displeasure and raises questioning eyebrows at George every so often.

_Minds crave distractions but no distraction is distracting enough._

Each of them does their own silent thing as they wait yet another hour, each of their minds full of thoughts they wish they didn’t have, thoughts that they need to air but can’t possibly do so. Each locked in silent turmoil inside their own heads, thoughts crashing and colliding, stomachs churning, acid shooting up their throats. Leaning against the doorway is Hagrid who hasn’t shifted for the past few hours, not even when his stomach grumbled, not even when his legs started to ache from standing for so long. Which is why when Hagrid shifts, the room falls into a different kind of silence and eyes move to the doorframe where a healer is now approaching only a few steps away from their room, his destination clear, he is on his way to see them, to give them news on Ron, he won’t say that visiting hours are over because he won’t be able to finish a sentence before he is passed out on the floor.  The healer stops under the doorframe, hands clasping hands and a worn look on his face. Palm up he stops the barrel of questions before they come, he knows they will come, and he shifts from one foot to the other, gaze drifting through the room before it lands on Molly who meets his eyes and gives him a tired nod.

“He’s fine.”

The healer says, cracking the silence, making it shake before cutting it with a knife and forcing it to crumble, forcing it to explode around them. Blank eyes fill with hope, hands grasp at skin and mouths drop open in disbelief, after so many hours of silence no one knows how to articulate their thoughts, a rare phenomenon in a room filled with these people Harry thinks distantly.

“He’s fine?”

George cannot pinpoint who says it, with so many voices chiming together it is easier to say that he alone didn’t ask, he alone sat there in stunned silence, not able to speak. Hours of anticipating the worse, hearing the truth had him speechless. The truth that went against all reality, the truth that latched onto all hope and pulled and tugged at his heart and made his face split open into a grin, denied his mouth from opening, stopped all thoughts because there was nothing he could say. He didn’t doubt the truth, not really, he just needed to know it wasn’t a lie, needed to see Ron smile and swear and say something worth teasing over, needed to see Ron’s blue eyes lock onto Hermione and pull her close not caring that he hurts because that is what Ron would do if he was still Ron, and _Merlin_ George needs him to still be Ron.

“Yes. He’s awake.”

The healer nodded, giving Molly and then the room a small nod, but no smile, but Ginny isn’t concerned, judging by the lines of this mans face he does not often smile, so a lack of one is not confirmation that this is not a good thing. The room is littered with shaky breathes that are being taken, uncertain smiles and sighs of relief. Bodies shift and shoulders roll, releasing their tension, no one is completely relaxed, but with the silence gone and good news delivered the room is not so small, the air not so tight and everything is not so hopeless. Hearts still beating faster than normal, breathing still not normal, the mood of the room is shifting, and as it tips away from chaos, Ginny’s iron clad grip on Hermione loosens as she smiles into her bushy hair.

“Is he asking?”

For a moment Hermione isn’t sure that those three words slipped between her lips or someone else’s, but then they hang in the air above her, they wrap around her strangling her, pulling the oxygen out of the air and threatening to kill her. For another moment she doesn’t think that the healer will know what she means, and part of her wants him not to know, because if he doesn’t know then he can’t be asking. Tentative eyes settle onto her, while inquiring eyes settle on the healer, all needing to know an answer to the question, the question that sadly all of them understand.

_Please don’t be asking about the ministry._

The healer scanned their faces, needing to take a second to understand what Hermione is asking. Her eyes burning into him, he stares back at her as he thinks. Nerves fill the air, crackling and demanding attention, desperate minds all needing an answer. Realisation blooms over the healers face, his head does an involuntary nod that causes everyone to suck in quick breathes before he hurriedly answered, “About you all, not the ministry.”

“He’s fine?”

Hermione’s voice shook as the question tumbled off her tongue. She hadn’t asked along with the others, like George she had been silent, but now with her trepidation almost fully extinguished she can ask the question and not be scared of the answer, not be scared of desiring the numbness that her body craves. The healer nods once, only small and then he nods again and the corner of his lips curl just enough to see that this is his attempt at a smile to soothe them, to calm their fears. The tension has almost dissolved, the fear is seeping out of everyone and onto the floor, letting happiness and hope take its place.

_Oh Ron._

Head buried into Ginny’s shoulder once again Hermione cries, this time silently, her body shaking and a smile ghosting over her lips. Her world is shaking but not with fear, this time it shakes in a wonderful way, it no longer shakes with uncertainty and horror, and Hermione’s future becomes bright again, full of laughter and smiles, full of bickering and sighs, full of everything so beautifully mundane and so excitingly normal, full of everything and anything because Ron is alive, Ron is himself again, not asking about the ministry, not dead, not here to stay at St Mungo’s forever. Ron is okay and her heart wants to sing.

“You can see him now if you want.”

Hermione is up off the bed before the last word leaves the healers mouth. Beside her everyone is scrambling to their feet, all wanting to see him, no, needing to see him. Friend or family, everyone needs to make sure he is okay, make sure for themselves that he is alright, and outside the room Hermione can hear bodies shifting to their feet, old friends and new friends alike getting to their feet, knowing that they won’t see Ron now, but they will be able to see him soon. It makes her smile knowing that everyone is here for him, knowing that there are dozens of people waiting for him to wake up, waiting to be okay. Distantly she remembers that Ron still needs to be debriefed but the fucking ministry can wait she thinks, she needs to see him now.

_Too slow, far too slow…_

Hermione wants to grab the healer by the hand and pull him forward, urge him to go faster, overtake him and leave him behind, but she can’t, because she doesn’t know where Ron is and she has lost all command over her mouth. Harry’s hand is clutching on hers as they walk far too slowly for Hermione’s liking towards wherever Ron is lying. Beside Harry is Ginny, her hand in his with George beside her. A few steps behind them is Arthur and Molly, and behind them are Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Percy, everyone else is waiting behind, giving the family some space.

_Oh Merlin._

Her feet stop. Refuse to take her another step forward before she takes a short rugged breath and blinks once, twice, three times and struggles forward. She can see the mess of red hair and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that is Ron, all bandaged up and not even noticing that the healer as just pulled open the door to his room. Turning the healer leaves them, everyone lingers back, utterly silent and Hermione’s eyes betray her, she had promised not to cry and yet she can taste the salt on her lips. Two small steps forward she is so close to the door now, so she keeps moving, her feet freezing as she steps under the doorframe, they won’t go any further, not yet, not with her mind going into overload. She can feel Ginny’s breath on the back of her neck, can feel George’s hand on her shoulder and Harry’s shoe touching hers, and she feels comforted by their presence but that doesn’t stop her heart from pounding in her ears so loud she could be in a club, and it certainly doesn’t stop her from feeling like the floor will suddenly drop away from beneath her.

“Ron?”

The word slips out as a question that seeks confirmation. She knows they said he was fine, but she can’t be sure, can’t be sure because he is sitting in his bed, back against pillows and he is gazing at a spot on the wall, sitting too still, he looks thoughtful, that is not unfamiliar, but the way he holds his body is and Hermione can feel dread fill her up. The words reach him and his head tilts, his body shifts forward and he smiles, a first a small flicker of light on his expression and then he is beaming brighter than the fucking sun, and Hermione’s heart swells as his eyes meet hers, that blue that brings her home, makes her feel safe and god he hasn’t changed.

“Mione!”

Ron had meant to yell, meant to sound triumphant and sure but instead it comes out no more than a breath, and he grimaces, stops moving towards her, towards his family and falls backwards against the bed, his whole body aching. Hermione grins even wider, not at the sight of Ron in pain, but at the use of her nickname, proving that Ron is still Ron and that he still remembers her, which is little but oh she will take that until she can get anything more, but mainly she is grinning because Ron hasn’t changed, he is sitting too still because it hurts to move, he is holding his body in such an unfamiliar way because his body burns and aches in an unfamiliar way, not because he himself is altered or unfamiliar.

“You are a fucking imbecile!”

Hermione yelled, her voice almost shattering the windows and startling both Ron in his bed in front of her and those in the hallway behind her. Boring holes into Ron’s head with her narrowed eyes she strode towards the bed, her wand still in her pocket, she glared down at him, her eyes furious and her expression dark. George chuckled behind her but everyone else remained silent.

“I’m sorry I-“

Ron started, tone weak knowing that an apology wouldn’t help. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t know what day it is but he knows he was out for hours, that even a minute of worrying would be bad and he has put them through hours of torture. Hermione has reached the side of the bed now, her feet stopping and her arms betraying her, wanting to touch him, needing to feel his skin beneath his fingers, but instead of hugging him, instead of letting delicate fingers glide over skin she finds a spot that isn’t bruised or plastered and hits him, just a little, but harder than she expected and softer than Ron had.

“You’re sorry? YOU HAD US ALL WORRIED SICK! You could have died, what the fuck were you thinking pointing a wand at your head?”

Hermione is shouting as loudly as she can now. Her voice is shaking, quivering and tears are threatening to fall from her eyes. She isn’t scared, she is fucking pissed off. All of that emotion she had felt before has given way to anger, anger at those who hurt him and anger at him. Angry that he was so reckless, angry that she couldn’t save him, that there was nothing she could do to help him, angry that he pointed a wand at his head and tried to fix himself no matter the consequences. Out of the corner of her eye she can see them nodding outside, glad that she is yelling, so they won’t have to. Her body is trembling with anger as she glares at him and he doesn’t even seem to shrink under her gaze, instead he accepts it, knows that he deserves it.

“It was a dumb idea.”

Ron conceded. He didn’t look away from Hermione’s gaze, only a small part of him wanted to, another part of him was drinking in everything about her, he came so close to never seeing that face again, or never knowing that face again. He doesn’t want to smile, know that will only piss her off more, but she looks beautiful, mad and fuming and just utterly Hermione, gorgeous as always. He doesn’t smile, barely manages it though and he can feel several sets of eyes on him but he ignores them, rakes his eyes over Hermione’s face as she looms over him, jaw set and hands waving wildly as she screamed,  “Dumb? DUMB? It was downright idiotic, it was one of the stupidest things that you have ever done Ron! You are a bloody idiot!”

“It worked though!”

Ron offered up which only made her eyes darken more, only made the sets of eyes on him that were observing him now turn into glares. It wasn’t the right thing to say, he knows it wasn’t the right thing to do either, not really. But he was scared and he wanted to be okay, wanted his brain to work, wanted his brain to function and not frighten them. In the end it was better that he was dead and not addled, because still being alive and not really being there, not really being alive would have been harder to deal with than his death. He couldn’t tell them that though, not now, perhaps later when everything wasn’t so raw. He wanted to give them closure, wanted his brain to be okay or wanted his heart to stop completely, and allow them a funeral and a chance to move on.

“What if it didn’t!?”

Hermione yelled, hands moving and for a second Ron thinks that she is actually going to strangle him but instead she reaches behind him and fluffs the pillow, needing to give her hands something to do. She is aware, distantly, that everyone is crowding around the door watching them, that everyone on this floor can hear them, but she doesn’t care, she wants to yell some more and she will, she doesn’t care if anyone hears, because she has to yell and then she needs to gather Ron’s face in her hands and kiss him, just like she has been wanting to do all day.

“What if we lost you Ron? What if I lost you Ron! I don’t want to live without you so don’t make me, please don’t make me.”

Hermione’s words shake and tremble, her voice cracking with emotion and this time the tears return, rolling fat and wet down her cheeks and Ron ignores the pain, bites down on his cheeks and pulls Hermione down into the bed beside him. He lets her body curl up next to his, her knees resting against his legs, her face on his chest as his arm wraps around her, presses kisses into her hair and rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back. Fingers curl and fist into the gown the healers gave him and she tries not to be too heavy on him, she knows that her head lying on his chest is painful, but with his scent wrapping around her, with his hands soft and firm and lips pressing against her forehead now, she can’t think about how it’s painful for Ron.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Ron murmured, drawing circles with his thumb against Hermione’s shoulder, calming her down as he kisses her nose, reassuring her that she is safe. A small part of him does want to ask about the ministry, not because he doesn’t remember asking but simply because he wants to tell the ministry to come later, not now, he needs a few hours with is family, needs a few hours just to be. Using his other hand to wave everyone in he smiles up at them, Hermione’s fist tightening as she pulls him down, her eyes open and her face wet as she presses her lips to his, needing to taste him, needing to kiss him, needing this to feel real, needing to remind herself that he was okay, everything is okay.

_Thank Merlin._

For the next hour everything is peaceful, everything is calm, well mostly. Molly looks as though she wants to strangle Ron but hugs him anyway and kisses cheeks and he doesn’t even groan or make a sound. Hermione doesn’t leave Ron’s side, doesn’t shift her head from his chest, doesn’t stop kissing him every few minutes, and Ron kisses her right back, fingers running through hair, thumb rubbing over her knuckles, arm wrapped around her keeping her close. Chess is played, and so is scrabble and this time Percy groans and argues with George who puts on words that “Aren’t even real!” as Percy insists. Food is delivered and shared, and the mood is light, laughter is loud and unchecked, voices are merry and comments not held back. The world is moving again, time is now far less important because they are not waiting, they are not wishing, now the world continues, even though it never really did stop. Despite it feeling like the world had stopped, had paused, the still before a breath, it never did, it only paused for them, and now that Ron is okay again, because they can now breathe, the still is over and the world is breathing, life is just as it was. The waiting was hell, but this, this was worth it.

“When you get better I’m gonna punch you in the fucking face.”

Ginny vowed as she took another sip of Butterbeer, her eyes meeting Ron, focussing on him and him alone. He nods, smiles and pulls her into another hug, the punch he deserves, he was an idiot, he shouldn’t have used the spell, but it did work and part of him thinks that given the chance he would do it again, a thought that he will not voice.

Jokes are made, drinks are consumed, and the morning passes, ignored by everyone. No one wants to leave, no one has work that they absolutely must be at, so they stay, glad that Ron is in a huge room, glad that the door is kept open and that people can come and visit, glad that everything is good.

“I know you like vegetables but I’m so glad you didn’t become one.”

George said, voicing the joke he had thought of earlier when everything was uncertain. It’s almost 10 o’clock now, and tiredness hangs in the air, Ron has drifted in and out of sleep for the past few hours but no one minds. The room stills for a moment and eyes turn to him, Hermione raises her face off of Ron’s chest to catch George’s eye but George is only looking at Ron, Ron whose bright blue eyes shine and he throws back his head and laughs, loud and full of mirth and around him the room erupts with laughter, their souls quaking with it, and the silence they felt for hours is long gone, the fear is a mere memory. And as George grins and gets smacked on the arm by Charlie, he doesn’t care to imagine any of this ending any differently.

_He’s fine, Ron’s fine, we’re fine, we are after all, alright._

**_The end._ **

 


End file.
